An Armageddon Duology (22 page)

C
BD
: I want to read for you some documentation from the archives of the NSA. Prepared specifically for this inquiry.

MR. RIDEOUT: This should be fun.

C
BD
: As of 30 October, more than a third of the agency’s computers were wiped and placed behind a newly designed firewall, code-named ROUNDUP. This firewall successfully prevented further infections and those machines took on the bulk of NSA computing tasks, both internally and externally. This was not a “cure” of any kind. It served as a preventive measure for infection and allowed the agency to resume increasingly normal levels of operations. However, due to national security concerns, it was decided not to share this information with outside agencies, private or public institutions, or the personal computing world for fear that release of the code would allow Anonymous to develop countermeasures.

M
R. RIDEOUT
: Hang on! So they had a block—they could fence it out—but kept it to themselves? Genius! How did the asses there feel when the Boeing plants blew themselves to bits? Robots slinging parts every which way, killing hundreds of workers, crippling aircraft construction for years? Jesus! Or the General Dynamics tanks and trucks? So sophisticated with their fully wired innards! The worm had them turning on their operators and blowing holes in the army bases! Bet those guys would have liked a peek at that firewall!

C
BD
: There was debate. For example, it says here—

M
R. RIDEOUT
: Debate! I love it. How about the farm belt catastrophes? Irrigation and treatment systems poisoning tens of millions of acres? Chinese air traffic control going to shit and nearly leading to a launch of missiles? Taiwan is lucky to still be here, honestly. And of course, who can forget the digital money supply of the world banks literally disappearing before our eyes?

C
BD
: The NSA isn’t the focus of this inquiry!

MR. RIDEOUT: Then why bring them up at all?

C
BD
: I was getting to this point. The document continues.

C
BD
: Debate on this topic intensified during the next few days as the worm caused accelerating damage to civilian and governmental infrastructure. However, increasing concern developed over a second, and unrelated series of malicious code attacks that were eventually determined to have originated from offices of the FBI in New York City.

M
R. RIDEOUT
: Oh, here it is! Angel. Now I see what this is about. So the NSA began to spy on the FBI as well.

[
R
EDACTED
]: Because your division had gone rogue and was releasing viral code into the internet!

MR. RIDEOUT: Because it was the only way to fight the damn thing! Fight, well, that came later. At this point, we’d only begun to see the worm’s activity through Angel’s code. We didn’t have time to get permissions or test the friendliness of this stuff! As you read so eloquently, the damn world was falling apart around us!

[
R
EDACTED
]: Many find it intriguing that at the same time as Anonymous was bringing down the world’s digital economy, military, even food and water production, your group at FBI was engaging in a simultaneous release of hostile code.

MR. RIDEOUT: It wasn’t hostile to—

[
R
EDACTED
]: And that it was your small division in an obscure branch of the FBI that managed to bring in the leader of Anonymous. A hacker who personally communicated with your chief programmer before and after the arrest—

MR. RIDEOUT: Communicated? He fucking wiped our server farm!

[REDACTED]: leaving her, and her only, encrypted messages and files.

M
R. RIDEOUT
: You’re serious? You think we’re in league with that fuck? He tried to kill us multiple times! We were trying to save the nation!

[
R
EDACTED
]: Did saving the nation require you to provide aid and comfort to enemies of the state?

MR. RIDEOUT: Aid and comfort? That’s treason. What the hell are you talking about?

[
R
EDACTED
]: Francisco Lopez. Sara Houston. The Priest and the Whore. Surely you have heard of them?

MR. RIDEOUT: The Priest and Whore? [Inaudible] Oh, my God. Gabriel and Mary! Are you telling me those ciphers were Lopez and Houston?

[
R
EDACTED
]: It’s charming that you are so ignorant of this.

MR. RIDEOUT: I didn’t know who they were and I don’t believe anything coming out of your mouth! All I know is that those two risked their lives over and over to bring Fawkes in. And they did! You should pin a fucking medal to their chests.

[
R
EDACTED
]: Perhaps they’ll receive what’s coming to them if you would tell us where they and Angel Lightfoote are hiding.

MR. RIDEOUT: I have no idea! Neither does anyone else in Intel 1. For all I know they’re dead in the chaos. The city was on fire when you took us underground, when your thugs knocked our doors down and grabbed us. They were already gone into that mayhem. From what I’m seeing here, I’m thinking that was maybe the best outcome.

C
BD
: You say this Mary and Gabriel risked their lives several times. Can you elaborate?

MR. RIDEOUT: I’ve told you about the warehouse raid. Jesus, that was straight out of Call of Duty. That’s where we found the drone stash. They took down a bunch of armed guards to get into that place. Of course, that fuck had more than one location. But I can at least say that there is no way their raid didn’t save lives and infrastructure. Some bridges are still standing and some people still walking around because of that raid.

C
BD
: Who else was in on it?

MR. RIDEOUT: No one. Two on like fifty, I don’t know. Bodies were everywhere. I saw the photos. Of course, the craziest was the boat.

C
BD
: Boat?

MR. RIDEOUT: Yeah, the very next day. Airlifted them like battle bots and dropped them in. And we almost had him, dammit. We could have prevented so much if they had caught him. So many deaths. But it wasn’t to be.

C
BD
: Fawkes? How did you know he was there?

MR. RIDEOUT: We tracked some phones. Dead guards had contacted people. Led to the boat.

[
R
EDACTED
]: How was the FBI able to track this boat without computers, without the technology? Where did you get the vehicles to airlift the fugitives?

MR. RIDEOUT: John had connections. In fact, I think some were in your vaunted NSA. Some good guys. I don’t know. But they made it happen, tracked the calls, got Mary and Gabriel in there. Would have been something to see in the flesh, I have no doubt.

A
dark-haired
man handed Lopez a tablet and swiped through several photos. Although dimmed, the glow of the screen was nearly blinding in the dark interior of the aircraft, the thundering sound of the blades and engine suffocating auditory senses as well. They were flying just over the low cloud cover on a moonless night, shadowing the boat by matching speed and direction, remaining well out of earshot.

The two men were young, barely out of their twenties, and Lopez wondered where Fred Simon had found them. Breaking agency protocol, even in this crisis environment, likely meant they were not mere tools, but a part of the loose network united by Savas and Simon.
The Watchmen
. Lopez didn’t know whether to respect their efforts or consider them hopeless idealists.

He turned his attention to the tablet. The images showed increasing zooms toward an unusual-looking boat. Lopez strained to hear the CIA man over the sounds of the helicopter and the strong headwind that rocked the craft mercilessly. Even with the headphones, he found himself using hand signals to get Houston’s attention as he handed her the device.

The CIA man repeated what he had said. “It looks like one of the newer anti-pirating vessels. Aluminum hulls and cabins designed to withstand small-arms fire. Dual-engines to bring top speeds of around sixty miles per hour. They can turn on a dime and chase down anything that isn’t a speed boat. Or outrun it.”

“Good thing we’re in a helicopter,” said Houston, smiling.

The CIA man wasn’t amused. “Look, I don’t know who you are and what strings you pulled, but his isn’t a day trip. Look at these.”

He scrolled past several photos that centered on the boat and its hull, pausing over a pair that focused on the deck.

Houston interrupted. “We see them. Guards fore and aft, automatic weapons, even a fairly large machine gun mounted there,” she pointed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t bring this bird in too close. The gun might almost qualify as anti-aircraft depending on the rounds.”

“But if we are going to have you near enough that thing, the approach is going to have to be close,” he scowled. “They’ll make us for sure by sight as well as sound. There’s nothing identifying on the outside, especially at night, but that in itself will likely send up flags.”

Lopez nodded to the side door. “What is this thing? I assume it’s for us?”

“The best we could manage on extremely short notice. We aren’t the Navy Seals, and to be quite honest, this is our first and I hope only sky-to-sea assault mission. Usually we do things with a bit more stealth.”

The man edged over and unzipped one of the bags. Black fiberglass gleamed back at them, reflecting the light of the tablet and cockpit instrument panel.

“But this will get some points for that.”

“It’s a jet ski?” asked Houston.

“Yes,” said the CIA agent. “Electric. Good for the environment.”

Houston nodded. “
Silent
, in other words.”

“Next to the motors on the boat, most definitely. It’s pitch out there on the open sea and they’re not running all that dark, so you should almost be invisible. We disabled the safety lights. It’s a two-seater, so you’ll both fit with some minimal gear. You stay in their wake and you should be able to grapple on before they know you’re there.”

“Except for the thundering helicopter drop-off, of course,” said Lopez.

“We’ll try to keep as far out as possible, so there will be some distance. You can hit 50 on this thing. Boat tops off at 60 and they aren’t pushing it that hard right now. Nowhere close. You can close the gap.” He looked Houston up-and-down. “It’s not us I’m worried about. Getting on the boat is one thing. Then what? I hope Simon hasn’t lost his mind.”

Houston used the silence to loudly slap a fresh clip into her browning. “Just get us on the water and watch your own ass. We aren’t outfitted for a sea mission. Put us low to avoid a bath and we’ll preserve more function in the gear.”

The CIA man motioned to a rope and pulley. “Thirty feet already laid out. In this blackness, well, that’s pushing it, and the downwash is going to be a problem.”

“We’ll make do,” she answered, wrapping a tactical vest around her.

The pilot spoke through the noise. “Target has decelerated. Down to 30 miles per hour.”

“We do it now,” said Lopez.

The CIA man nodded. “Drop us down, Charlie.”

They felt a tug inside and the helicopter buried itself in the cloud layer, additional turbulence rocking the small craft back and forth violently. The pilot was flying dark except for instrumentation. They plunged below the clouds and the sea swelled into view. Light from the boat ahead bobbed like a beacon.

Houston and Lopez removed the remainder of the tarp on the jet ski. Without a combustion engine, it was surprisingly light, and they positioned it in front of the door. They were dressed in black with protective vests, ski masks and dark gloves, packs on their backs and weapons strapped to utility belts. Night vision goggles dangled from their necks.

The helicopter plunged toward the sea, the pilot speaking in their headsets. “Wind’s a bitch! Be quick.”

They lurched to a hover. The pair removed the headphones and fastened the rope to the jet ski. The CIA man opened the side door and they lowered the watercraft quickly. The gears on the pulley hummed as the rope flew through the mechanism, the smell of burnt leaves filling the small space. Far below, they watched the water splash outward from the impact on the surface.

“Go, go, go!” cried the pilot.

Houston leapt onto the rope and wrapped her feet around it. She descended swiftly down its length and vanished below. Lopez paused a split second to give her space to clear, then dropped straight into the wind and night.

It was all completed in less than a minute. The pilot was skilled and held the helicopter in position. Feet firmly planted on the jet ski, they detached the rope as Houston slipped into the driver’s seat and fired it up, the engine purring softly.

The craft leapt forward toward the dancing lights of the yacht. Lopez removed a high-powered assault weapon and focused ahead as the helicopter darted upward, heading back toward the cloud bank and safety.

Only it would not make it. Operators on the boat had seen the craft. Through the washed-out green of the night-vision, Lopez saw a volley of infrared tracers converge on the aircraft. He remembered the large weapon in the recon photos. He removed his goggles and stared helplessly.

A bright light erupted above them, painting the ceiling of cloud-cover in orange and white, the water reflecting the growing fireball. The sound shook them as they sped forward, the rending of metal and air pressure from the ignited fuel. In the dimming fireball the wreckage could be seen to careen toward the open sea and slam into the water like the surface was made of concrete, the helicopter crushed and sinking. It vanished below the waves.

Lopez felt all ambivalence evaporate.

“Let’s get these bastards.”